We know Remy is the kinda guy who would get his lover's name tattooed on him. What do you think the process of going about that would be like?
The shop smells like antiseptic and ink when you walk in, the low buzz of a tattoo machine filling the room like a warning you don’t understand yet.
And then you see him.
Gambit is leaned back in the chair like he owns the place, one arm draped behind his head, shirt pushed up just enough to expose his ribs. The artist’s gloved hand is steady against his side, needle moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
It takes your brain a second to catch up.
“Remy—?”
His eyes flick to you immediately. That lazy, crooked smile shows up like nothing’s wrong, like this isn’t insane.
“Hey, cher.”
You step closer, heart starting to pound for reasons you can’t even sort out yet. “What are you doing?”
The artist pauses, glancing between you two like maybe this is above their pay grade.
Remy doesn’t answer right away. He just tilts his head slightly, like he’s considering you, then nods once toward his ribs.
“Almost done, yeah?”
And that’s when you actually look.
Your name.
Not small. Not subtle. Scripted across his ribs in dark, fresh ink—still a little red around the edges, still being filled in like it’s something that’s always been meant to be there.
Your stomach drops.
“Remy, what the hell are you doing?” The words come out sharper than you mean them to. You reach toward him without thinking, then hesitate, like you might mess it up just by being too close. “Why would you do that?”
The machine starts up again, buzzing low as the artist finishes the last few lines.
Remy barely reacts to the pain. His gaze stays on you the whole time, steady, calm in a way that almost makes it worse.
“Hold still,” the artist mutters.
“I am still,” he says easily, but his attention never leaves you.
You shake your head, trying to process it. “No, seriously, why would you—Remy, that’s permanent. That’s—” You let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through your hair. “What if we break up?”
The buzzing stops.
Silence drops heavy in the room.
The artist leans back, wiping the tattoo gently before covering it, clearly deciding this is a moment they’re not part of. “I’ll give you two a second,” they say, stepping away.
Now it’s just you and him.
Remy sits up slowly, wincing just a little as the movement pulls at the fresh ink—but he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He never does.
You’re still staring at his ribs like it’s something unreal.
“Cher,” he says, softer now.
“No, don’t ‘cher’ me,” you shoot back, though your voice wobbles. “You don’t just do that. That’s not normal, Remy. That’s—” You gesture helplessly. “That’s forever.”
He watches you for a second, expression unreadable in that way he gets when he’s about to say something that actually matters.
Then he reaches out, catching your wrist gently.
You freeze.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
You do.
His eyes aren’t playful now. No teasing, no smugness—just something steady. Certain.
“I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
Your breath catches a little. “You don’t know that.”
He tilts his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips—not dismissive, just… sure.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”
You shake your head again, softer this time, like you’re arguing but don’t fully believe yourself anymore. “People always think that. Things change.”
Remy’s thumb brushes absentmindedly over your wrist, grounding, warm.
“Maybe,” he admits. “World changes all the time.”
He glances down briefly at the bandage on his ribs, then back up at you.
“But not this.”
There’s no hesitation in it. No dramatics. Just a simple, solid truth the way he sees it.
Your chest tightens in a way you don’t like—because it feels a little too big, a little too real.
“Remy…” you start, but you don’t even know what you’re trying to say anymore.
He leans forward just slightly, closing the space between you, his voice dropping softer.
“Name’s just ink,” he says. “Ain’t what makes it matter.”
His fingers curl gently around yours, guiding your hand toward his side.
You hesitate—just for a second—before letting him.
Your fingertips brush the edge of the bandage, careful, like you might break him.
He exhales quietly at the contact, eyes flickering shut for half a second.
Pirate!Remy lebeau because hes been on my mind also why haven't I seen Pirate Remy lebeau writing??
Cw: theft
The port was loud tonight—music spilling from taverns, sailors shouting over one another, coins clinking, waves slapping against wood like they had somewhere better to be. But none of it touched him.
Remy LeBeau stood half-hidden in the golden spill of lanternlight, gloved fingers rolling a coin across his knuckles like it was thinking for him. His red eyes flicked up once—twice—tracking guards, counting steps, measuring time.
Jewelry shipment. Fresh off a merchant vessel. Guarded, but not enough.
“Too easy,” he murmured, accent curling soft around the words.
And yet, his lips tipped into that knowing little smile.
Because it wasn’t for gold. Not really.
The break-in was almost insulting.
A flick of the wrist—lock undone. A shadow slipping through shadow. A guard distracted just long enough by a very convincing noise down the alley. By the time anyone noticed something was wrong, Remy was already inside, boots silent against polished floors.
Then he saw it.
Velvet-lined cases. Rows of them.
Diamonds catching the light like captured stars. Gold chains coiled like sleeping serpents. Rings, bracelets, earrings—some delicate, some bold, all gleaming with the kind of wealth men crossed oceans for.
Remy exhaled, low and amused.
“Yeah… she gonna like this.”
He didn’t rush. That was the thing about him—everything he did felt unhurried, like the world moved around him. He picked pieces carefully, not just the most expensive, but the most you. A necklace that would rest just right against your collarbone. Rings he could already imagine sliding onto your fingers. Something soft, something dangerous, something that would catch the light when you laughed.
The bag filled quick.
And just like that, he was gone again.
The ship rocked gently under moonlight when he returned, the crew either asleep or pretending not to notice their captain slipping back aboard with a very suspiciously full bag.
Remy didn’t head below deck right away.
Instead, he leaned there for a second—just outside your shared quarters—like he needed that pause. That quiet.
Because this part?
This was the part that mattered.
You were half-asleep when the door creaked open.
“Remy…?” your voice was soft, thick with sleep.
“Shh, cher,” he murmured, already moving toward you. “Don’t gotta wake up all the way.”
But there was that tone in his voice. The one that meant trouble. The one that meant him.
You pushed yourself up anyway, blinking at him through dim lantern light—and then you noticed the bag.
“…what did you do?”
He grinned.
“Somethin’ nice.”
You didn’t even have time to protest.
Because suddenly he was at the edge of the bed, undoing the bag with a flick of his fingers—and then—
Gold spilled out.
Not tossed carelessly, no—poured. Slow. Intentional. Jewelry catching the light as it cascaded over your lap, your hands, the sheets. Chains slipping through his fingers, rings clinking softly as they gathered around you like you were something to be adorned, something to be worshipped.
Your breath caught.
“Remy—”
“Mm,” he hummed, like he wasn’t listening and was listening to everything at once. “Hold still, chère.”
His hands were warm as he picked up a necklace, brushing your hair aside with surprising gentleness. The metal was cool against your skin as he fastened it, his fingers lingering just a second longer than needed.
Then another.
And another.
Rings slid onto your fingers—one, two, three—his thumb grazing your knuckles like he couldn’t help himself. Bracelets stacked along your wrists. Something delicate hooked at your ear.
You were laughing now, a little breathless, a little overwhelmed.
“This is ridiculous—”
“Non,” he cut in softly.
That was different.
You stilled.
Remy’s gaze lifted to yours, red eyes glowing faint in the low light, something deeper sitting behind the usual charm.
“Not ridiculous,” he said, quieter now. “Right.”
His hand came up, brushing a stray piece of jewelry into place—really just an excuse to touch you again.
“All this?” he gestured vaguely to the scattered gold, the glittering mess surrounding you. “Ain’t nothin’ compared to you.”
There it was.
That sincerity he didn’t show the world.
Only you.
You tilted your head, studying him—really studying him—and then reached out, catching his wrist before he could pull away.
“You stole a whole shipment,” you said slowly, “just to… dress me up?”
His grin came back, softer this time.
“‘Dress you up’ sound a lot less romantic than what I had in mind, but—yeah.”
You huffed out a laugh.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Mm,” he leaned closer, voice dropping, “but you love me anyway.”
You rolled your eyes—but didn’t let go of him.
“Maybe a little.”
He laughed under his breath, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours, careful not to tangle the jewelry.
“Careful, chère,” he murmured. “Say that too sweet, I might have to steal you somethin’ bigger next time.”
Hey! Hope this find you well! Please could you give some tips about writing fics? I want to go back to writing but I feel ,yself stagnant :/
Also, absolutely love you writing, please keep going with your art!!! ^^
A big thing for me is taking breaks when I feel like I'm out of ideas, or asking the community. I mostly take hiatus until at least two ideas hit me and I get inspo from a lot of television shows. Hopefully this is helpful but if you ever want someone to bounce ideas off of or need help with ideas feel free to dm me <3
oh babe i have so many remy ideas and not enough time on my hands 🥹😭
sub!remy, riding his face, hypnosis kink, bondage (both ways), sex pollen, wake up sex. general fluff like insomniac nights together, cooking with him, showering together.
if you wanna write something out of any of these feel free! they'll just keep taking up space in my own head 😭love ya mootie
Don't know if this counts as mean!reader or not but oh well
CW: sex implied, bondage
Tying Remy up and then tying him to the bed is one of his favorite things for you to do to him, he loves being at your mercy and being able to trust someone so much that he's handing over his ability to move or act fast. I think Remy would watch videos with you on tying just so you guys can try out pretty ties, and yes for holidays if he's feeling spicy he'll have you tie him up like a present. I do believe that Remy would do the same for you if asked but he’s definitely a sub when it comes to this so he's more down for whatever you want to do to him.
“Please, Cheri, I'll be good- I'll be so good for you, just a taste.”
he pants as he wiggles trying to escape his ropes all for a little taste of your pretty cunt. Of course you say no though, where's the fun in giving him everything he wants, plus watching his cock turn red and painfully hard is enjoyable.
I LOVE all of your writings of Gambit, it’s so cute and on point♥︎
Could you write a Gambit x fem!reader fic where reader feels like she’s not good enough for gambit and that he deserves better then her and gambit has to comfort her?
(Oh..and plus if you don’t mind could the reader be quite jealous of Rogue👀)
Tysm for the request, I hope this is what you were looking for
WC: 1,436 surprised I wrote that much
CW: insecurities?
You didn’t mean to watch her.
That was the worst part.
It wasn’t like you stood there staring openly at Rogue, comparing every little detail like some kind of self-inflicted punishment. It was subtler than that—quieter. A glance that lingered too long. A thought that stuck when it shouldn’t.
She was laughing again.
It came easy to her. Everything did.
Strong. Confident. Beautiful in a way that didn’t feel fragile or temporary. The kind of beauty that didn’t need reassurance to exist. The kind that filled a room instead of shrinking inside it.
And then there was you.
You shifted your weight against the wall, arms crossed loosely over your chest, trying to make yourself smaller without looking like you were trying. It was a habit you didn’t even notice anymore.
You didn’t belong in rooms like this.
Not really.
Not when people like her did.
And definitely not when he did.
Gambit stood across the room, half-leaning against the back of the couch, cards flicking idly between his fingers like they always did when he was relaxed. He was talking to someone, smiling that easy, crooked smile that made it feel like the world tilted just slightly in his favor.
He looked… right.
Like he belonged exactly where he was.
Like he always had.
And for a brief, sharp moment, your chest tightened with something you didn’t want to name.
Because he’d looked like that with her too.
You slipped out before anyone could notice.
The hallway outside was quieter, the noise of the common room fading into something distant and dull. You exhaled slowly, pressing your back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling like it might give you answers.
It didn’t.
It never did.
You dragged a hand over your face, frustrated with yourself.
This is stupid.
You weren’t competing with Rogue. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t even looked at you twice tonight.
This wasn’t about her.
Not really.
It was about that voice in your head—the one that whispered things you couldn’t quite shake.
He’s been with her.
You really think you measure up to that?
You squeezed your eyes shut.
“Y’got a habit of disappearin’ when things get loud, chère.”
Your eyes snapped open.
Of course.
You didn’t even need to look to know it was him—but you did anyway.
Gambit stood a few feet away, arms crossed loosely, expression softer than usual. Less playful. More… careful.
Like he’d already figured something out.
“Just needed some air,” you said quickly.
He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Inside a hallway?”
You huffed a quiet laugh despite yourself. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” He pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “Question is—why you runnin’ from it?”
“I’m not running.”
“Mm.” His eyes flicked over your face, reading you in that way he had—too perceptive for your liking. “Then why you look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you losin’ a fight no one else can see.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
You looked away.
Silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable.
He didn’t push right away.
That almost made it worse.
“Did I do somethin’?” he asked after a moment, quieter now.
Your head snapped back toward him. “What? No—no, it’s not you.”
“Then talk to me.”
“I don’t—there’s nothing to talk about.”
“Chère.”
Just that one word, soft and steady, and something in your chest cracked.
You let out a shaky breath, your gaze dropping to the floor.
“You’ve been with her,” you said before you could stop yourself.
He went still.
You pressed on, because now that it was out, you couldn’t take it back.
“With Rogue. And she’s—she’s her. And I just…” Your voice faltered. “I don’t get why you’d want me when you’ve had that.”
The silence that followed wasn’t sharp.
It wasn’t angry.
It was… heavy.
And when you finally looked up, Gambit’s expression had changed completely.
No teasing. No smirk. No deflection.
Just something soft. Something real.
“Come here,” he said gently.
You hesitated.
“I’m serious,” he added, stepping closer. “C’mere.”
There was something in his voice—steady, grounding—that made your feet move before your brain caught up.
He didn’t pull you into anything overwhelming.
Just reached for your hands, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted to.
You didn’t.
His fingers closed around yours, warm and firm.
“First thing,” he said quietly, “you don’t ever gotta compare yourself to anyone. Not her, not nobody.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“I know.” His thumbs brushed lightly over your knuckles. “Don’t make it any less important.”
You swallowed.
“She’s everything I’m not.”
He shook his head immediately. “No. She’s everything she is. That ain’t the same thing.”
“It feels like it.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Feelings lie sometimes.”
That made your chest ache.
He shifted closer, just enough that you could feel his presence without it being overwhelming.
“I cared about Rogue,” he said, honest and calm. “Ain’t gonna pretend I didn’t.”
Your stomach twisted.
“But that was then,” he continued. “And this—” he gave your hands a small squeeze, “—this is now.”
You looked at him, searching his face for doubt.
You didn’t find any.
“I don’t feel the same with you as I did with her,” he said softly.
That didn’t sound reassuring.
He must’ve seen it in your face, because he shook his head quickly.
“Not worse,” he clarified. “Different. Better, in ways I didn’t expect.”
You blinked.
“How?”
He smiled faintly—not his usual confident grin, but something smaller. More personal.
“You make things quiet.”
“…Quiet?”
“Yeah.” His gaze softened. “With you, I ain’t always thinkin’ three steps ahead. Ain’t always playin’ a part. I can just… be.”
Your throat tightened.
“That don’t happen often for me, chère.”
You didn’t know what to say to that.
So you didn’t say anything.
He stepped a little closer, one hand slipping free from yours to gently tilt your chin up so you had to look at him.
“You think bein’ ‘enough’ means bein’ the loudest, the strongest, the most untouchable person in the room?” he asked.
You hesitated. “…Kind of.”
He shook his head, a soft exhale leaving him.
“Being enough just means being real,” he said. “And you? You’re the realest thing I got right now.”
Your eyes stung.
“I don’t feel like it.”
“I know.” His thumb brushed lightly under your eye, not quite wiping away anything, just… there. “So let me remind you.”
The words were simple.
But the way he said them—steady, certain, like it wasn’t even a question—made your chest ache in a different way.
“You ain’t gotta earn your place with me,” he continued. “Ain’t somethin’ you can lose ‘cause someone else walks in the room.”
You let out a shaky breath. “It feels like I could.”
“Then I’ll keep tellin’ you you can’t,” he said softly. “As many times as it takes.”
Your composure cracked just a little, your shoulders dropping as the tension you’d been holding finally started to loosen.
He noticed immediately.
“Hey…” His voice softened even more. “C’mere.”
This time, when he pulled you in, you didn’t hesitate.
His arms wrapped around you carefully, like he was making sure you were okay with it every second. One hand settled against your back, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head, guiding you gently against his shoulder.
It wasn’t tight.
It wasn’t overwhelming.
It was… steady.
Grounding.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, your hands slowly coming up to grip the fabric of his shirt.
“I got you,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.
Your eyes slipped closed.
For a moment, everything else faded—the comparisons, the doubt, the stupid voice in your head that never seemed to shut up.
There was just this.
Just him.
“You’re not her,” he said quietly, his chin resting lightly against your head. “And that’s a good thing.”
You huffed a small, shaky laugh into his shoulder.
“Didn’t think I’d ever hear that as a compliment.”
“Get used to it.” His hand moved slowly up and down your back in a soothing rhythm. “I like you exactly the way you are. Insecurities and all.”
“That’s… a lot to like.”
“Mm.” He pressed a light kiss to the top of your head. “Good thing I got good taste.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your expression softer now. Less guarded.
Author's note: I was asked for more soft Remy so here he is :)
Morning with Remy never starts all at once.
It builds.
Slow, quiet—the kind of morning where the light slips in through the curtains in soft gold lines, and the world hasn’t quite decided to be loud yet.
Remy’s already awake.
He usually is.
Not because he has to be, but because there’s something about the early morning he likes—something calm, something that feels untouched. And lately… it’s become his favorite time to take care of you.
He moves carefully getting out of bed, like he’s trying not to disturb the air itself. One last glance over his shoulder before he leaves the room—just to make sure you’re still tucked in, still sleeping easy.
“Sleep, chérie,” he murmurs under his breath, like you can hear him anyway.
The kitchen is quiet except for the soft sounds of him moving around. He’s not fancy about it, but he tries—measures things the way he’s seen you do, leans against the counter while it brews like he’s guarding it.
Every now and then, he smirks to himself.
“Look at me,” he mutters, low and amused, “domestic as hell.”
But there’s something softer under it. Something real.
By the time he comes back, there’s a mug in his hand, warm and steady, the smell of coffee trailing in before he does.
You’re still asleep.
Exactly how he left you.
Remy sets the mug down quietly, like it’s something precious, before sitting on the edge of the bed. For a second, he just looks at you—really looks. The kind of look he’d never admit to anyone else.
Soft.
Fond.
A little in awe.
“Hey, pretty girl…” he murmurs, voice low and rough with sleep and something gentler.
His hand comes up first, brushing lightly along your arm, then your shoulder. Slow, careful. Giving you time to wake up instead of pulling you out of it.
When you don’t stir much, he leans in just a little.
A soft kiss to your temple.
Then another to your cheek.
Light, unhurried—like he’s not trying to wake you up so much as ease you into it.
“C’mon now,” he whispers, a hint of a smile in his voice, “sun’s up already. You gon’ sleep the whole day away?”
His lips brush your forehead this time, lingering just a second longer.
When you start to shift, even just a little, he huffs a quiet, pleased sound.
“Dere you are…”
His fingers trail gently along your arm again, thumb brushing slow circles like he’s grounding you there with him.
“No rush,” he adds softly. “Take your time.”
But he doesn’t stop.
Another light kiss, this one near your hairline. Then your cheek again, softer this time, like he’s gotten what he wanted—just that little sign you’re waking up.
When your eyes finally open, he’s right there.
Close, but not overwhelming.
Smiling—not his usual cocky grin, but something smaller. Warmer.
“Morning, chérie.”
He reaches back for the mug, placing it carefully in your hands like it matters.
“Made it for you. Don’t say I never do nothin’ nice.”
But he’s still close, still lingering, one hand resting gently on your arm like he’s not quite ready to pull away yet.
Thinking about Remy lebeau undressing you, not in the sexual way but him taking care to unzip your dress gently, not in a rush just happy to have you, he runs his hands over your shoulders, down your back and then up to your straps, he pushes them down and reaches to grab your chin. “gorgeous Cheri.” he leaves you in your underwear and heels before pressing a kiss to your neck and trailing down to your collarbone. “Such a pretty girl” he gets down onto his knees and peppers kisses across your calf he unbuckles your heels and slips them off before kissing his way back up. “should let me do this more often.”
guys please send me request I'm having an idea drought!
Last song: Church by Jade (I recommend their entire album "That's Showbiz Baby").
Favorite color: blue and purple.
Currently watching: Jane The Virgin, The Office, Victorious, Peacemaker.
Currently reading: Do Tumblr fanfics count? But I'm also reading spiritual prayers before going to sleep.
Current obsession: Rice paper rolls with any filling (seaweed, salads, rice with meat, etc.), you can eat as many as you want, but I'm satisfied with two.
Last Google search: How to make flowers with crepe paper (to help my sister with a school presentation).
Currently working on: I don't know if it counts that I go to physical therapy? because I don't write, or do anything relevant.
Tagging: @evielovve @shadowskribe @lil-rigatoni @sstar-ggirl @shamrockqueen @lalalalalew @marymun @piratekingateez2001 @training4theapocalypse @mayfieldss (I don't know if you've already done it; if not, don't feel pressured to do it or to reply.) 💫
hi! i absolutely loveee your writing. could you pretty please write something for remy x reader who isn't very experienced with sex/gets really nervous about it. thank you so much if you do!
- 🌺 anon
Aww thank you🌺 anon <3
I hope this is what you were looking for!
WC: 666
Warnings: Smut
You wanted to surprise Remy. You sat in the middle of your bed, trying to pose seductively in a cream-colored lingerie set you had just taken the tag off of. You honestly had no clue what you were doing, nor what you were getting yourself into, but after hearing through multiple sources that before you, Gambit was a ladies' man and had girls who knew things you couldn’t even think about without turning red. Your thoughts are paused when your bedroom door opens to reveal Remy standing there already preparing to kick his boots into the corner by the door like he usually does, but he pauses instead. “Cher? What you all dolled up for?” he questions with a smirk and tilt of his head like he doesn't already know exactly where this is going. You go to speak, but your words catch in your throat, you aren't sure what to say. ‘Hey babe, I know we’ve never fucked, but I bought this so maybe you wouldn’t get tired of me and leave.' Absolutely not.
“Mon Amour," he requests your attention. “I just thought…maybe we could do something…nice?” You let the words tumble out of your mouth, although it feels like they're begging not to leave. The silence is light to Remy but heavy to you. “Or not, we don’t really have to do anything—" you rush to smooth things over, but before you can finish. “You want to get in Gambit's pants, huh?” You flush at his bold words but shyly nod. Gambit smiles, but not a warm smile, more like a cat-like smirk, a way of saying, ‘I’ve been waiting for this.' “All you had to do was ask Cher." He tugs his jacket off before working to get his belt unbuckled. You stand a bit shocked at whats going on but immediately think back to the book you read on this: men like girls face down ass up, so thats what you did, you flipped onto your stomach. and shoved your face in the pillow. “Cheri, what are you doing?” You lift your head with furrowed brows. "Getting ready?” Gambit stood in his underwear confused. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” It was almost embarrassing how quick he caught on. “Was it that obvious?” you let out an embarrassed laugh. “Jus’ a bit."Remy flips you over, leaving you wide-eyed and staring up at him. “Hi…” you say nervously. “Hi Mon Amour” he speaks softly before kissing you. "We're going to go slow, yeah?” You nod slowly. Remy draws a line with his kisses, from your mouth down to your stomach and back up, by the time he kisses your lips again, you’re squirming in your spot. "Someone's excited, hm?” he chuckles before trailing back down and coming face-to-face with your core, he sits on his knees down on the floor, looking like he's about to worship a goddess, and honestly, he was. A cool breeze brushes your core as Remy pulls your panties off before placing a kiss on your clit, he was practically making out with it but was so gentle it almost tickled. You gasp softly and grasp his hair as he sucks harder on it. "R-Remy—" you pant out, your back arching and toes curling, you hadn't felt this kind of pleasure on your own, so feeling it be done by someone else felt amazing. You think you could die happy in this moment. Your voice through moans sounds like you’re gasping for air, especially when Remy finally slips a finger into you. You feel like you’re in heaven the moment he starts to thrust in and out, but almost as quickly as that feeling arrives, it is replaced by an indescribable sensation, a hot rush down your spine mixed with something that makes your vision go white. “Would ya look at that, Cheri? Aren't you a good girl cummin for me?” You're definitely wearing this more often if this is what guys do when girls wear lingerie.
My daily thought about Remy is Remy being a pleaser, him laid on his stomach between your legs, auburn hair tickling the insides of your thighs as you squeeze them tighter around his head the more his tounge flicks against you, he just gets faster the more you try to push him away out of overstimulation, your back arches and toes curl, he hasn't said a word to you this whole time, to focused on eating you out. By time he comes up for air his hair is a mess from you grabbing it, his face is covered in a thin layer of slick and his pupils are wide. Your thighs shake as you recover from him but before you can even catch your breath, he finally speaks. "Didn't think I was done with you did you Cher?"
hii! i just wanted to say i love your remy writings so much. you have such a gift. please never stop sharing your beautiful thoughts, and also always remember to care for yourself in between <33
Thank you anon, you guys are so sweet to me!
Also, how would you guys feel about emoji anons if people send me more stuff? By the way, my asks are always open.
Remy noticed it before he even fully stepped into the hallway.
It wasn’t obvious.
Most people wouldn’t have caught it.
The door looked the same. The handle sat the same. Nothing was broken, nothing forced—
But the lock sat just a fraction too loose in the frame.
Like it had been touched.
Remy went still.
Behind him, you were still talking about something from the café—something about how the owner had given you an extra pastry “because you looked sweet,” and how that was absolutely a valid reason to go back tomorrow.
Remy didn’t answer.
His eyes stayed on the door.
Listening.
Nothing inside.
No movement. No voices. No shift in air.
Still.
Too still.
“…Remy?”
He blinked, like he’d just snapped back into himself.
“Yeah, cher?”
“You okay?”
“Mm.” He smiled easily, reaching past you for the handle. “Peachy.”
You narrowed your eyes a little, but didn’t push.
Remy turned the key.
Slowly.
The lock clicked.
He pushed the door open.
Everything looked normal.
The couch. The small table. Your plants in the window catching the afternoon light.
Nothing out of place.
But the air felt…
off.
Remy stepped inside first.
Always first.
“See?” he said lightly over his shoulder. “Ain’t nothin’—”
A card slid from his sleeve into his hand.
You didn’t notice.
He scanned the room quickly.
Corners. Shadows. Windows.
Still nothing.
“…wrong,” he finished.
You walked in behind him, setting the little paper bag of pastries on the counter.
“I told you,” you said, kicking your shoes off. “You’re just being paranoid.”
“Comes with the charm,” Remy replied.
His voice was smooth.
Too smooth.
He moved casually through the apartment, like he wasn’t checking every inch of it.
Kitchen.
Clear.
Bathroom.
Clear.
Bedroom—
His steps slowed.
The door was open.
He was sure he’d closed it before they left.
Remy leaned against the frame, arms crossing loosely like he was just pausing for no reason at all.
His eyes swept the room.
Bed untouched.
Closet door slightly ajar.
Window—
Closed.
But the latch was wrong.
Again.
Subtle.
But wrong.
Remy’s jaw tightened just slightly.
“Remy?” you called from the kitchen. “Do you want coffee or are you still on your dramatic balcony phase?”
He exhaled slowly.
Then turned back toward you, expression already smoothed over.
“Coffee sounds real good right about now.”
You smiled, already reaching for the kettle again.
He walked back in like nothing had happened.
Like his chest wasn’t tight.
Like his instincts weren’t screaming.
Like someone hadn’t been in their home.
He leaned against the counter, watching you move around the kitchen.
“You bought half the café, huh?” he said.
“It was on sale.”
“Uh huh.”
“And he said I had ‘kind eyes,’ so I feel like I deserved it.”
Remy snorted softly.
“Careful, cher. That’s how scams start.”
You bumped your hip lightly into his.
“Jealous?”
“Of a man givin’ you free pastries?” Remy tilted his head. “Maybe a little.”
You laughed.
And for a moment, it almost felt normal again.
Almost.
Until you turned toward the sink.
And the small plant sitting by the window trembled slightly.
Leaves shifting.
Not from wind.
From you.
Your mutation always reacted when you were upset.
Even if you didn’t realize it yet.
“…Remy.”
Your voice was quieter now.
He straightened slightly.
“What is it, cher?”
You pointed toward the living room.
“The window.”
Remy’s gaze snapped over.
The curtain was swaying.
Just barely.
But the window—
It wasn’t latched.
Silence filled the apartment.
Slowly, you looked back at him.
“That wasn’t open before.”
Remy held your gaze for a second.
Two.
Then he smiled.
Easy. Calm. Like nothing in the world was wrong.
“Probably didn’t close it all the way this mornin’,” he said.
Your brows knit together.
“I thought I—”
“Happens.”
He pushed off the counter and walked past you, gently reaching up to shut the window.
Click.
Secure.
His fingers lingered there for just a moment longer than necessary.
Then he turned back to you.
“See?” he said lightly. “Nothin’ to worry about.”
You didn’t look convinced.
But you nodded anyway.
“…okay.”
Remy gave you one more reassuring smile.
Then turned away.
His expression dropped instantly.
Gone.
Replaced with something sharper.
Colder.
His eyes flicked toward the bedroom.
Toward the slightly open closet door.
Toward the feeling that hadn’t left his chest since he stepped inside.
Years of missions, ambushes, and sleeping in places that weren't ever quite safe had trained his body to wake at the slightest shift in the air, the smallest creak in the apartment. Even now, retired and far from the X-Mansion, his eyes opened before the alarm clock ever had the chance.
The apartment was quiet.
For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling.
Beside him, you lay asleep, curled into the blanket like you built yourself a little nest during the night. One of your arms had drifted halfway across the bed, resting near his side like even in your sleep, you expected him to still be there.
Remy smiled faintly.
“Reckon I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he muttered under his breath to nobody specifically.
Carefully, he slipped out of bed.
The floor creaked the second he shifted his weight onto it.
He froze, but you didn’t stir.
Good.
Remy padded quietly into the kitchen, already reaching for the coffee before his brain fully registered it. The little machine sputtered to life with a grumble that sounded like it resented being used this early.
While it worked, Remy tugged a deck of cards from his pocket, the deck seemingly everywhere no matter where he was, even when he slept.
Some habits didn’t retire.
The cards slid smoothly between his fingers, shuffling themselves almost without thought or help. The quiet rhythm of it filled the small kitchen.
Shuffle.
Flip.
Spin.
It was muscle memory at this point.
By the time the coffee finished brewing, the sky outside the window had begun to lighten just slightly.
New Orleans mornings were slow.
The streets below were still mostly empty, save for a couple early walkers and a guy unlocking the metal gate to the cafe down the block.
Remy stepped onto the balcony with his hot mug of coffee. The humid air wrapped around him immediately. He leaned on the railing, watching the city wake up piece by piece.
It should’ve felt peaceful, and it almost did.
But something in his chest still felt tight.
Remy glanced down the street to where the man had been standing and found no one, no eyes watching or lingering, just a newspaper blowing lazily in the wind. He exhaled through his nose.
“Paranoid, Lebeau,” he murmured to himself.
Behind him, the balcony door slid open.
“You’re doing it again.”
Remy didn’t even turn around.
“Doing what?”
“Staring like someone is coming to get you.”
He looked back over his shoulder.
You stood in the doorway in one of his old T-shirts, hair messy from sleep and eyes a bit puffy from rubbing them while trying to wake up.
Remy grinned wide.
“Can’t help it, cher.”
You walked over and leaned beside him on the railing.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The trumpet music today had been replaced by the sound of wind howling.
“You didn’t sleep long,” you said.
“Didn’t need to.”
“That’s not healthy.”
Remy shrugged in response before saying,
“You sound like the professor.”
“I’m serious, Remy.”
You turned slightly toward him, studying his face like you were trying to read him.
“You’ve been tense since yesterday.”
Remy’s smile didn’t budge.
“Have not.”
“You have.”
He took another sip of coffee.
“City’s got a lotta memories, that’s all.”
“Bad ones?”
Remy hesitated before meeting your eyes.
“Some good ones too.”
You seemed to accept that answer for the moment.
Below, the cafe owner dragged a chalkboard sign onto the sidewalk.
The smell of fresh bread drifted faintly up the street.
Your eyes lit up immediately.
“Breakfast?”
Remy chuckled.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
You grabbed his arm before he could even turn to go back inside.
“Come on.”
“Cher, lemme finish my—”
Too late. You were already tugging him toward the door.
Life with you had a funny way of pulling him forward before he could look over his shoulder.
But as he set his mug down and grabbed his jacket, he let his gaze flick to the window and watch the street for a moment, just to see a car rolling down the street, dark windows, moving too slow.
It didn’t stop, didn’t even pause. But Remy watched it until it disappeared around the corner.
Then you grabbed his hand.
“Remy?”
He blinked.
“Yeah, cher?”
“You coming?”
Remy looked down at your hand wrapped tightly around his before smiling.
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